PS 3525 
.0864 
R4 
1912 
Copy 1 



BE REGENERATION 
ROBERT nURDOCK 



A WEST POINT PLAYLET IN THREE ACTS 




BY '% 

Capt. James A. Moss, Class of '94, 

U. S. N. A. 



A WEST POINT PLAYLET IN 
THREE ACTS 

BY 

CAPT. JAMES A. MOSS, Class of '94, 
U. S. U. A. 



Especially written for, and produced at, the re- 
union of West Pointers at the New Willard 
Hotel, Washington. D. C. , the evening of Satur- 
day, March 30, 1912, which was the first reunion 
of West Pointers ever held in Washington, and 
at which two hundred and ten graduates and 
twents-five guests were present. 



d^'^ 



^ deters appear) 
...-v;Oi.o..r,L ivOur.RT MURDOCK, ClaSS OF '82 

Smith, Messenger. 

Mr. Wright, Stenographer. 

Major Henry Thayer, Class of '82. 

Major U. S. Lee, Class of '82. 

Major Robert E. Grant, Class of '82. 

General John M. Cullum, Class of '60. 

Cadet Sherman, a Plebe. 

Glory June. 

Cadet McClellan. 

Cadet Beauregard. 

Cadet Burnside. 

Cadet Jackson ("Jack"), a First-classman. 



4^ 






Q^<^ 



ACT I. 

Scene : Room in War Department, with desk, 
book-case, extra chair, electric hell and other 
office appointments; doors at rear, right and 
left. 

Time: June 10, 1912. 

{Curtain rises with Murdoch seated at desk, 
going over communications. Smith enters and 
places a paper on the desk. Exit Smith. Mur- 
doch rings bell. Enter Wright, note-book and 
pencil in hand). 

MURDOCK. Say to Dr. Mary Johnson, 
President, Women's Temperance League, 
Kickapoo, Indiana. 

{Wright sits in chair near Murdoch). 

Dear Madam: — 

In answer to your letter of the 5th 
instant, forwarding a set of resolutions 
adopted by your league, urging the War 
Department to add the bible to the cur- 
riculum of the United States Military 
Academy, the Secretary of War directs 
me to say that up to 1882 the bible 
formed a part of the curriculum of the 
Academy, but that it was interpolated 



to such an extent by the head of the 
department that, at the instance of the 
Bible League of America, its study was 
discontinued. 

It is not at present considered advis- 
able to reintroduce it into the curric- 
ulum. However, the resolutions of 
your league will be borne in mind and 
at the first opportunity given the con- 
sideration that they so -w^ell deserve. 
* Very respectfully, 

MTJRDOCK. That's all. 

(Exit Wright). 
(Door at back is opened by Smith). 
SMITH. (Standing outside of opened door.) 
Yes, sir; this is his office; that's Colonel 
Murdock at the desk. 

(Enter Thayer). 

THAYER. Why, hello Bobbie, old boy — 
you Manchu prince! It surely does my 
heart good to see you again. 

MURDOCK. And I am glad to see you 
again. Sit down. 

THAYER. But, Bobbie, you're getting as 
gray as a badger — and what crow's feet! 
The trials and tribulations of campaigning 
in Washington and the responsibilities of a 
lieutenant-colonel of the General Staff, eh? 

MURDOCK. I see that you're the same 
old tease that you were as a cadet. Where 
are you stationed nowP 



5 

THAYER. At Fort Huachuca, Arizona. I 
ana on a raonth's leave. I reached Wash- 
ington this morning on my way to West 
Point for our class reunion tomorrow. I 
knew you were here and that, of course, you 
were going — so I stopped over to get a 
glimpse of Washington, which I have never 
seen before — and to pick you up. What 
train have you planned to go over on? 

MURDOCH. I am very sorry, but I am 
afraid I won't be able to go. I can't very 
well get away at the present time. 

THAYER. Bobbie, quit your "kidding." 
Why, of course, you can get away, and of 
course you're going. 

MURDOCH. No, I am in earnest about it. 
You see, my duties here are of a most exact- 
ing and responsible nature, and I doubt if 
the Chief of Staff could just at this time spare 
my services. 

THAYER. What would the Chief of Staff 
do if you should suddenly die just at this 
time, eh? 

MURDOCH. There you go. Do you know 
there are very few officers out in the service 
who have any conception of the amount of 
work and the responsibilities of officers on 
duty in the War Department? Upon our 
shoulders rests the responsibility of oiling, 



6 

adjusting and keeping in motion the entire 
machinery of the whole Army. If it weren't 
for us everything would *'go to pot." 

THAYER. Come, Bobbie, do you really 
mean to tell me that you're not going up to 
the Point for our class reunion tomorrow? 

MURDOCK. I've told you that I can't 
very well get away; furthermore, I haven't 
lost anything up there. 

THAYER. Really, old man, I am sur- 
prised to hear you say that. 

MURDOCK. My four years at the Point 
were a h 11 of a grind, and my recollec- 
tions of the place are anything but pleasant. 
I was "skinned" more than once when I 
didn't deserve it, and more than once I aidn't 
get v/hat I made on my recitations. 

THAYER. Stop a minute! Now, while 
you're in the "recollecting business," recol- 
lect the times you were not "skinned" when 
you should have been; the times you got a 2 
on your recitations when you should have 
gotten a 1.5; the times you "bugled it," lest 
you should "fess out." Recollect those 
things, too. 

MURDOCK. Furthermore, I don't like 
the frosty atmosphere of the place. "Windy" 
Jones, of our class, was telling me that he 
went up to the graduation exercises a few 



c: - 




7 
years ago. He reached West Point about 
nine o'clock at night, two days before grad- 
uation day, and had to walk up the hill and 
the whole way to the hotel in a drizzling 
rain. He couldn't get a rig of any kind for 
love or money. During the two days and 
two nights that he was there, everyone he 
saw was busy, marking papers or doing 
something else — no one seemed to have time 
to speak to him. When he went to the head- 
quarters building to pay his respects to the 
Superintendent, the first thing the Adjutant 
said to him was, "You know, we're awfully 
busy at this time." Jones said he felt more 
or less like a fish out of water; everywhere 
he went he had the uncomfortable feeling 
that he was "butting in"; that he had gotten 
into the wrong pew. 

THAYER. Now, my dear fellow, there 
are two sides to every shield, and while I 
have no doubt but what "Windy" Jones had 
the experiences that he told you about, we 
must also remember that the instructors at 
the Academy have a great many papers to 
mark and other duties to perform at grad- 
uation time; but it was several yeai's ago 
that "Windy" was up there. Things have 
changed since then. 



8 

MURDOCK. I don't know about that. 

THAYER. But I do. I happen to know 
that when Downey's permit to operate busses 
on the post was renewed the last time, the 
Superintendent put in a clause requiring 
him to meet all trains and all ferries reach- 
ing West Point, day or night, beginning 
three days before graduation; a soldier wear- 
ing a white band around the arm is at the 
station and at the dock to meet all trains 
and ferries, to furnish information, and look 
after baggage; three or four divisions in the 
new Cadet Barracks, furnished with bunks 
and bedding, are set aside for visiting grad- 
uates, who are extended the privileges of the 
Officers' Club; the ''tacs" and a number of 
other officers whose time is not taken up 
with marking papers and other duties, are 
asked by the Superintendent to go around 
the Officers' Mess and other places to look 
after visiting graduates; the professors and 
associate professors, realizing that "noblesse 
oblige," and knowing that there are visiting 
graduates around the Club in the afternoon 
and evening, make it a point to drop in and 
"circulate among the crowd," so to speak — 
to fraternize with their fellow graduates; 
you can get from the steward of the Club a 
rosette of yellow, black and gray that will 



9 

identify you as a visiting graduate, and all 
cadets are required to salute those wearing 
such rosettes. Yes, during the last few years, 
things have changed materially in that re- 
spect; today the Superintendent, the Com- 
mandant, the professors, and all other officers 
on duty at the Academy exert themselves to 
make you feel that you are welcome, that 
they're really glad to see you. Today West 
Point is in closer touch, in greater sympathy 
with the Army than ever before — the atmos- 
phere, the spirit of the whole place has 
changed — it's all so HUMAN now — a new 
era has dawned. 

MURDOCK. That may all sound very 
well, but, as I told you before, I won't be 
able to go up with you. 

THAYER. Bobbie, is it possible that you 
are like some other graduates that I know? 
The apparent lack of love for our Alma 
Mater on the part of some graduates is 
something I have never been able to under- 
stand. Last June the memorial window, 
donated by the graduates of the Academy, 
said to be the most beautiful and artistic 
memorial window in this country and one of 
the finest in the world, was dedicated. The 
other day I was looking at a photograph 
taken of the graduates present at the dedica- 



10 

tion exercises. There were 100! There 
should have been at least 1,000. However, 
things are changing, and I am glad to see 
an awakening all along the line. A couple 
of years ago annual reunions of graduates 
stationed in Kansas City, Fort Leavenworth, 
and vicinity were inaugurated, and I under- 
stand that the same thing is going to be 
started in Washington this year. We need 
to be reminded just so often that we are 
graduates of West Point. Love for one's 
Alma Mater, like patriotism, esprit de corps, 
and other kindred sentiments, must be fos- 
tered and kept alive. As a part of, and in 
keeping with, the general awakening of 
which I have just spoken, the Adjutant of 
the Academy now sends out circulars every 
year to all graduates, giving the order of 
the graduation exercises; the Association of 
graduates by means of circulars and other 
judicious use of printers' ink — by injecting 
a little HUMAN NATURE into its work — 
by injecting into the work a touch of that 
fellow-feeling that makes us wondrous kind 
— is making an effort — and a successful one 
— to create and foster a feeling of love for 
the Alma Mater. 

MURDOCK. I am afraid you'll have a 



11 

pretty hard time to arouse any love for West 
Point in some of the graduates I know. 

THAYER. That may be true, but every 
man who ever graduated from that institu- 
tion has stored away somewhere in his sub- 
conscious — somewhere in his soul, the spirit 
of West Point, be it only a smouldering 
spark, and although he knows it not, it's 
there — it MUST be there; it's an element 
that was dropped into the crucible while its 
contents were yet in a liquid state. The gold 
may have hardened, but the diamond is 
embedded, even though it be at the very 
bottom. 

Here's a country boy who goes to the busy 
city, and, being favored by Fortune, amasses 
immense wealth. He lives in a palace, sur- 
rounded by new friends — his old, illiterate 
father and mother, his country brothers and 
sisters and his boyhood village friends are all 
forgotten. There is a panic — he loses all his 
wealth; he is turned out of his palatial home 
to satisfy heartless creditors; he is thrown 
out on a cold, cold world, penniless, home- 
less, friendless. In his misfortune the scenes 
of his boyhood days all come back to him as 
of yesterday; he repeats the simple prayer 
that as a lisping child he learned at his 
mother's knee; he sees the little shanty with 



12 

his dear old father and mother standing at 
the door — he sees again so plainly his sisters 
and brothers and his village friends. They 
had not entered his mind in years — he 
thought he had forgotten them — but he 
hadn't — the element had been dropped into 
the crucible while the contents were in a 
liquid state — the gold had hardened, but the 
diamond was embedded. And so is it with any 
man who ever graduated from West Point — 
the spark is there; it needs but to be 
kindled. 

MTJRDOCK. To tell you the truth, the 
day we left the place on graduation leave, I 
hoped I'd never see it again — and I haven't 
yet. I settled my account with West Point 
thirty years ago. 

THAYER. YOTJ settled your account 
with West Point thirty years ago! As I sit 
here, memory recalls a scene of thirty-four 
years ago. It's early in the morning. There are 
ten to fifteen candidates, from as many dif- 
ferent States, walking up the hill at West 
Point, from the station, on their way to re- 
port to the Adjutant of the Academy; one of 
them, the son of a Baptist preacher, a green 
country boy from a small town back in Illi- 
nois, is wearing a pair of red-top boots, with 
brass toetips; the sleeves of his home-spun 



13 

suit strike him above the wrist — he has never 
before left his mother's apron strings. Four 
years later I see him walking down the same 
hill, a full-fledged second lieutenant in the 
Army of the United States; today, thirty 
years later, I see him a lieutenant-colonel of 
the General Staff, on duty in Washington! 
And he settled his account with West Point 
thirty years ago! 

MURDOCK. Yes, but I worked like a 
slave for four long years, and it was through 
my own efforts that I graduated. 

THAYER. Really! Bobbie, I am going 
to tell you something now. As I was pass- 
ing through Chicago yesterday, I stopped 
over between trains to pay my respects to 
your old colonel. General Scott, who is now 
commanding the Central Division. During 
the course of our conversation your name 
was mentioned. The General told me that 
he was a member of the board of oflScers that 
recommended your detail on the General 
Staff. It would appear that your name and 
that of Colonel Harris, of the 1st Infantry, 
were being considered — your efficiency 
records were before the board — you both had 
excellent records. Three members of the 
board were in favor of detailing Harris and 
the other two in favor of detailing you. 



14 

The arms of the scale were just about so 
(indicating that they were about balanced). 
Someone mentioned that you were a graduate 
of West Point and that Harris was not. 
Although four of the five members of the 
Board were non-graduates, as soon as this 
fact was mentioned, the scales turned in 
your favor and the recommendation was 
unanimous. 

MTJRDOCK. Yes, but as I told you 
before — 

THAYER. (Interrupting.) I remember 
what you said, but I want to tell you that 
West Point owes nothing to her graduates — 
ABSOLUTELY NOTHING; but we owe 
EVERYTHING to West Point — what Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel Robert Murdock, of the Gen- 
eral Staff, IS todajr, v/hat he HAS today, he 
owes to West Point! West Point has made 
men famous, but no man has ever made West 
Point famous ! One great trouble with nearly 
all of us is that we never think about these 
things — we don't REALIZE — we don't seem 
to have the time. We get into the rut of a 
practical, material, conventional life, and on, 
on we drift, never pausing, never stopping, 
never REALIZING, and the first thing we 
know we have crossed the river Jordan. But 
let us pause to think what West Point has 



15 

done for us; let us stop to realize the debt 
we owe her. 

MURDOCK. I will repeat that I settled 
my account with West Point thirty years ago. 

THAYER. No, old man, you didn't settle 
your account with West Point thirty years 
ago. A graduate of West Point can't any 
more settle his account with the Academy 
than a child can settle its account with its 
mother. Bobbie, come on now, take a couple 
of days off — we'll leave on the Congressional 
Limited this afternoon, spend the night in 
New York, and reach West Point tomorrow 
morning. "Sandy" Lee, "Bobs" Grant, and 
about twenty other '82 men will attend the 
reunion. We'll sleep in Cadet Barracks once 
more; we'll take a meal or two in Grant 
Hall; we'll "hike" up to old Fort "Put" and 
take a stroll on Flirtation Walk — we'll 
live again in spirit days of long ago, 
days we spent together as cadets on the 
banks of the historic Hudson. It will make 
us feel young again — it will act as a wonder- 
ful tonic — a veritable elixir of life. We'll 
visit Cullum Hall, and as we walk through 
the building, we'll see the walls covered with 
bronze tablets bearing the names of class- 
mates and others now dead and gone. We'll 
see the old tattered battle-flags hanging from 



16 

their supports; we'll see the life-size paint- 
ings of Grant, Lee, Sheridan, Jackson, Sher- 
man and others, hanging on the walls — our 
blood will tingle — we'll feel proud that we, 
too, are graduates of the same institution — 
that their Alma Mater is our Alma Mater — 
it will make us realize the pricless legacy we, 
you and I, and all other graduates, possess. 
Come, Bobbie, you won't let me go up there 
without you, will you? 

(After thinking for a few seconds, Murdoch 
presses the bell. Enter Wright). 

MURDOCK : Please take this telegram : — 

''The Adjutant, 

"West Point, N. Y. 
"Will arrive tomorrow morning for 
reunion class '82. Please notify ar- 
rangement committee." 

That's all. 

(As Wright is leaving the room, Thayer takes 
hold of Murdoch's hand and shakes it with both 
hands.) 

Curtain. 



ACT II. 

Scene l : Parade ground at West Point. 
Time : Afternoon of June 12, just before gradua- 
tion parade. 

(Murdoch, Thayer, Lee and Grant are seated on 
a bench.) 

GRANT. Well, it surely does feel good 
to be back here together as we are today, 
doesn't it? 

LEE. It surely does. 

(Drum, sounding first call, is heard in distance.) 

MUBDOCK, Hello, what's that? 

THAYER. That must be the first call for 
graduation parade. 

GRANT. "Sandy," I'll never forget the 
day you were reciting in the art of war and 
Professor Mercur asked you how would you 
double the number of sabers on the firing 
line, and you answered that you would 
double the number of sabers on the firing 
line by giving each man two sabers! 

LEE. Yes, "Bobs," that was almost as 
"mathy" an answer as the one you gave the 



18 

time the instructor asked you what you 
would do with the earth from a trench, if 
you wanted to hide it, and you answered that 
you'd bury it! 

THAYER. I heard a pretty good one the 
other day on McCain, who is on duty in the 
War Department. While reciting in "Trig" 
the instructor asked him, "Mr. McCain, what 
is an angle?" and McCain replied, "An angle 
is a triangle with only two sides!" 

MURDOCK. I suppose you all remember 
Mclntyre — he's on duty in the Bureau of 
Insular Affairs. While reciting in "Phil" 
the instructor asked him, "Mr. Mclntyre, 
what is a horse power?", to which Mclntyre 
replied, "Why, a horse power is the distance 
one horse can carry one pound of water in 
one hour!" 

GRANT. When I was in Washington the 
other day "Doc" Graves told me about the 
time "Teddy" Rhodes, who is a class-mate 
of his, was reciting in surveying. The sub- 
ject he had required the drawing of a theodo- 
lite — about as complicated and as hard a 
thing to draw as you can think of. The il- 
lustration in the book also contained the box 
in which the theodolite was supposed to be 
kept when not in use. Now, "Teddy," who 
W9,s a little "goaty" in drawing, drew only 



19 

the box. When he got through reciting the 
instructor said, ''Yes, that's all right, but 
Where's the theodolite?" "The theodolite?" 
asked "Teddy," "Why, the theodolite, sir, 
that's in the box!" 

(Assembly on drum is heard in distance.) 
LEE. There goes the assembly. 
GRANT. I heard General Sharpe, the 
Commissary General, class of '80, tell a good 
story on one of his class-mates. General 
Aleshire. Aleshire was reciting in chemis- 
try, and Professor Tillman asked him if car- 
bonic acid gas was injurious, and Aleshire 
answered, "Oh, yes, sir; and if the air con- 
tains more than 100 per cent, it is very, very 
injurious!" 

THAYER. Hunter Liggett, class '79, who 
is now on duty at the Army War College, 
was reciting in "Phil" one day, and Professor 
Michie asked him, "Mr. Liggett, what is 
gravitation?" "Why — er — gravitation," an- 
swered Liggett, playing for time, "Why — er 
— er — Professor — gravitation — gravitation is 
that which if there were none we would all 
fly off the earth!" 

(Band in distance is heard playing a march.) 
LEE. (Stands up and looks off stage.) 
By Jove, they look fine, don't they? 



20 

{After playing for a short time, hand stops play- 
ing march.) 

GBANT. This is a glorious day for grad- 
uation parade. 

MURDOCK. Yes, we have good reason to 
feel very kindly toward the weather man. 

[Band "sounds off" {the "Three Cheers") and 
then plays medley of the Dashing White Sergeant, 
the Girl I Left Behind; Home, Sweet Home, and 
Auld Lang Syne.] 

THAYER. {While band is playing.) Yes, 
this takes me baxk just thirty years. 

LEE. Me, too. 

GRANT. There's not a finer looking mili- 
tary body anywhere in the world. 

THAYER. They do look great, don't they? 

{Retreat is sounded. Cannon is fired. Band 
plays "Star-Spangled Banner," during which Mur- 
doch, Thayer, Grant and Lee stand and uncover. 
Band then begins to play same medley as before.) 

LEE. {After band has been playing medley 
for a while.) Suppose we walk over to the 
Club and have a highball or twoP 

MURDOCK. That sounds good to me, all 
right. 
{Murdoch, Thayer, Grant and Lee leave stage.) 

{The curtain is lowered one minute to indi- 
cate the time necessary for the battalion to march 
back to barracks from parade.) 

{Orchestra plays medley of "Benny Havens" 
and "Auld Lang Syne.") 



Scene 2 : Same as Scene 1, this act. 

Time: After graduation parade. 

{General Cullum, tired and weary, enters and 
sits on bench. Removes hat and wipes face and 
forehead with handkerchief.) 

CXTLLUM. This has been a pretty stren- 
uous day for a man of my years. 

(Cadet Sheridan starts to stroll across stage.) 

CULLUM. Young man, would you please 
come over here a minute? I would like to 
talk to you. 

SHERIDAN. Yes, sir. 

CULLUM. Sit down, won't you? (Sheri- 
dan sits down.) I am General Cullum, of 
the class of '60. What's your name and 
what State are you from? 

SHERIDAN. Mr. Sheridan, sir; from 
Ohio, sir. 

CULLUM. And what class do you belong 
to? 

SHERIDAN. I am a fourth classman, sir. 

CULLUM. You must then feel very happy 
over the fact that tomorrow you will be a 
real, full-fledged "yearling"? 



22 

SHERIDAN. Yes, sir. 

CULLUM. I shall never forget the day I 
became a yearling — June 16, 1857. I con- 
sider it the greatest, the happiest day of my 
life. And I suppose you are very glad and 
proud that you are a cadet of this great, 
magnificent insitution? 

SHERIDAN. Yes, sir, I am, but I often 
think that the course is too hard and the 
discipline unnecessarily severe. I can't 
always see the necessity for it all. 

CULLUM. That's what I used to think 
sometimes when I was a cadet, especially the 
days that I got "skinned" or "fessed out" in 
some recitation. You are just starting on 
the Highway of Life ; I have about passed the 
last milestone, and I want to tell you, young 
man, that the course is none too hard, nor is 
the discipline any too strict. These beauti- 
ful grounds, these fine buildings, these pic- 
turesque surroundings are merely a mani- 
festation — merely a material setting, only an 
abode for something that we cannot see, for 
something that we can only FEEL — the 
spirit of old West Point, expressed in the 
words, "Honor, Duty, Country." The spirits 
of Sylvanus Thayer, Henry Kendricks, Peter 
Michie, James Mercur, Charles Lamed, and 
others are hovering over the institution, like 



23 

so many silent sentinels, watching and jeal- 
ously guarding its standards of efficiency; its 
ideals of truth and honor; its traditions. 

West Point is the result of evolution — it 
is the embodiment of the thought, effort, 
unerring judgment, and labor of many pa- 
triotic, conscientious, unselfish men, all of 
which you are now getting the benefit. Your 
mind and body are in their formative stage 
— they are pliable and wieldy — and as the 
artist takes a piece of clay and shapes it to 
suit his fancy, so is this institution now 
shaping your mind, moulding your body, and 
as the artist puts his individuality, his 
being, his very soul, into his work, so is this 
institution putting into you the spirit of its 
traditions, of its ideals — the spirit of old 
West Point. Everything that is being done, 
is being done for your own good. You may 
not realize it now, but, mark my word, you 
will in years to come. 

SHERIDAN. I suppose that's so. Gen- 
eral, but I had never tnought of it before in 
that way. 

CULLUM.* In 1799, two days before his 
death, George Washington wrote a letter to 

*This speech of General Cullum as well as his speeches 
beginning on pages 25 and 27 are based on extracts from 
General Horace Porter's address at the celebration of the 
centenary of the founding of the Military Academy, held 
at West Point in June, 1902. 



24 
Alexander Hamilton, probably the last his 
illustrious hand ever penned, saying: 

"The establishment of a military 
academy upon a respectable and exten- 
sive basis has ever been considered by 
me as an object of primary importance 
in this country, and while I was in the 
chair of Government I omitted no proper 
opportunity of recommending it to the 
attention of the Legislature." 

Thus may it be said that West Point, this 
infant of state, received at its baptism Wash- 
ington's dying benediction. And a better site 
for an institution to teach the science and 
the art of war could not have been selected. 
Here the Academy sits enthroned in the 
fastness of the legendary Highlands; the 
cold, gray, rugged rocks which form her bat- 
tlements are symbolic of the rigor of the 
discipline exacted of her children; her tower- 
ing hills seem to lift man nearer to his God; 
the mist-laden storm clouds may lower above 
her, but they break upon her crags and peaks 
as hostile lines of battle have so often broken 
upon the sword points of her heroic sons. 

To produce good music an instrument must 
be in tune. The cadet who here studies the 
art of war finds himself in a purely military 
atmosphere, and feels the stimulus of his 



25 

surroundings. About this region cluster the 
most inspiring memories of the War of Inde- 
pendence, which constituted the heroic age 
of the Republic. Here invading armies were 
checked, hostile fleets were barred, treason 
was baffled. Here flows the historic Hudson, 
rich in precious Revolutionary reminiscences. 
Upon the plain are displayed trophies of for- 
mer wars; upon giant rocks are graven the 
names of victorious battles; pendant on the 
building's walls are tablets and portraits 
which recall the record of imperishable 
deeds and perpetuate names which deserve 
to be immortal. Here statues are erected to 
commemorate men who lived believing in 
their country, who died that their faith 
might be fulfilled. The mute eloquence of 
their monuments plead for equal sacrifice on 
the part of present and future graduates, 
should war again threaten the nation's life. 
In such surroundings w^hat cadet could fail 
to be imbued with the absorbing spirit of old 
West Point? 

SHERIDAN. That's right, General. 

CTJLLTJM. And in this institution — on 
yonder flagstaff — the flag of our country is 
kept constantly in view. It is not simply a 
piece of bunting which can be purchased in 
the nearest shop; it is not a mere cluster of 



26 
brilliant colors; IT IS THE EMBLEM OF 
DIGNITY, AUTHOBITY, POWER! Insult 
it, and millions will spring to its defense, 
resolved that it shall never be dethroned 
from its proud supremacy. In this free land 
there is no sovereign, fealty to whom sym- 
bolizes national fealty; no crown to typify 
inherent authority; our sole emblem of 
fidelity to country is THE FLAG. Here, 
amid these sublime surroundings, you are 
trained to salute it, taught to reverence it. 

SHERIDAN, Yes, sir; that's so. General. 

CULLUM. West Point is a great melting 
pot — probably the greatest melting pot in the 
world. The woodchopper's boy and the mil- 
lionaire's son; the butcher's boy and the 
aristocrat's son, are, in the eyes of the au- 
thorities and in the eyes of the corps, abso- 
lutely equal — they all wear the same kind of 
clothes, eat the same kind of food, occupy the 
same kind of quarters, do the same kind of 
work, enjoy the same kind of pleasures. 
Every boy who enters this institution, irre- 
spective of race, religion, or "previous condi- 
tion of servitude," stands entirely on his own 
merits. West Point and Annapolis exemplify 
as no other institutions in this country do, 
one of the greatest basic principles of our 
Government, that "All men are created 



27 

equal." West Point belongs not to her grad- 
uates alone. As Sandhurst is English and 
belongs to the English people; as St. Cyr is 
French and belongs to the French people, so 
is West Point American and belongs to the 
American people, and well may the American 
people feel proud of their national military 
academy. 

SHEBIDAN. General, you are making me 
realize for the first time things that I never 
thought of before. 

CULLUM. I am glad of it, my boy, and 
now I am going to tell you a story I once 
heard — a story of Pierre St. Jean, a peasant 
boy of France. The great hall of the Sor- 
bonne in Paris was crowded with an audience 
that had gathered to witness the award of 
medals to those who had performed acts of 
bravery in saving human life at sea. A 
bright-eyed boy of scarcely fourteen sum- 
mers was called to the platform. The story 
was recounted of how one winter's night 
when a fierce tempest was raging on the rude 
Normandy coast, he saw signals of distress 
at sea and started with his father, the cap- 
tain of a small vessel, and the mate, to at- 
tempt a rescue. By dint of almost super- 
human effort the crew of a sinking ship was 
safely taken aboard. A wave then, washed 



28 

the father from the deck. The boy plunged 
into the seething waves to save him, but the 
attempt was in vain, and the father perished. 
The lad struggled back to the vessel, to find 
that the mate had also been washed over- 
board. Then lashing himself fast, he took 
the wheel and guided the boat, with its 
precious cargo of human souls, through the 
howling storm safely into port. The Presi- 
dent of France, after paying a touching 
tribute to the boy's courage in a voice broken 
with emotion, pinned the medal on his breast, 
placed in his hands a diploma of honor, and 
then, seizing Pierre St. Jean in his arms, im- 
printed a kiss on each cheek. For a moment 
the boy seemed dazed, not knowing which 
way to turn, as he stood there with the tears 
streaming down his cheeks while everyone 
in that vast audience wept in sympathy. 
Suddenly his eyes turned toward his old 
peasant mother, she to whom he owed his 
birth, his training — she to whom he owed all 
that he had, all that he was. He rushed to 
her, took the medal from his breast, and, 
casting it and his diploma into her lap, threw 
himself on his knees at her feet, exclaiming, 
'*0h, Mother, Mother! I owe it all to you; it 
was you who showed me how to be brave!" 
And so should the graduates of West Point 



2d 

be ever ready and willing to lay whatever 
laurels they may win at the feet of their 
Alma Mater, to whom they owe their educa- 
tion, their training — to whom they owe all 
that they have, all that they are. 

SHERIDAN. General, I want to thank 
you for this talk — you have told me some 
things that I shall never, never forget. 
You have made me see a new light. 
(Drum heard in distance.) That's the first 
call for supper. I must be going. Good-bye, 
sir. (Salutes.) 

CTJLLTJM. (Acknowledging salute.) Good- 
bye, and God bless you. 

(Sheridan leaves. Cullum gets up and walks 
around stage, looking about in a pensive manner. 
Fife and drum corps is heard in distance.) 

CULLUM. (Looking off stage.) There 
they go, marching to supper, the same as we 
did fifty years ago. (He sits on bench and 
soon falls asleep, during which, while the orches- 
tra, on muted instruments, is playing a medley 
of Benny Havens, Auld Lang Syne, and 
Home, Sweet Home, he has a vision — a vision 
of scenes of long ago — scenes on the banks of 
the Hudson. Views of West Point and pictures 
of Benny Havens, Sylvanus Thayer, Peter Michie 
and others are thrown on the screen. After the 



30 

last picture has been thrown on the screen, the 
music ceases, and Cullum awakes and stands.) 

CULLTJM. Yes, this has been a wonderful 
day; the hand of time has been turned back 
fifty years — it all seems like a dream — a 
wonderful dream! Oh, West Point, devoted 
child of the nation, standing with out- 
stretched hands to press the cup of welcome 
to the lips of your sons whom you bid to 
return to you after the trials and vicissitudes 
of life's career and repose their heads upon 
your bosom! 

When "Stonewall" Jackson and you and I 
and Benny, too, 
Are brought before the final board our 
course of life to view — 
May we be told with Grant and Lee; Sheri- 
dan and Sherman, to go 
And join the army blest of Benny 
Havens, oh! 

{Curtain.) 



^'^iJllilii 





M 





.«f^ - ; ^ •* 



ACT III. 

Scene: Flirtation Walk. 

Time : Soon after supper. 

(Laughing and talking heard in the distance. 
Enter Glory June, in summer costume, escorted 
and followed by Cadets Burnside, McClellan and 
Beauregard.) 

GLORY. It is certainly very nice of you 
all to want me for the next hop — but 

CADET BEAUREGARD. {Interrupting.) 
That's what makes West Point such a Para- 
dise for girls. 

GLORY. And deciding on which one it 
will be is what makes West Point just 
(Spells) h-e-aven. (Glory and Cadets laugh.) 
But I believe I'll not go with any one of you. 
I like the GENERAL appearance of the 
cadet who stands behind the officer at 
parade. 

CADET McCLELLAN. He's no general, 
Miss June — he's the QUARTERMASTER. 

GLORY. Then where do the other three 
stand P (Cadets laugh.) 



32 

CADET BUBNSIDE. Never mind, Miss 
June, I'll defend you. 

GLOBY (Archly). And are you so brave P 

CADET BURNSIDE. Oh, yes; I love the 
smell of powder. 

GLORY. I noticed that. You always use 
violet talcum, don't you? 

CADETS BEAUREGARD and McCLEL- 
LAN (Laughing and in chorus). "Spec" that, 
old man ! 

CADET BURNSIDE. You may tease all 
you please. Miss June. Girls who raake good 
fudge earn that right. 

GLORY. Did I send you some fudge? 

CADET BURNSIDE. What a silly ques- 
tion! Of course you did. 

GLORY. I must have been insane. 

CADETS (In chorus). If we ate it we 
must have been mad — about you! 

GLORY. Mad, indeed. The fudge was a 
perfect insult. 

CADET BEAUREGARD. I never before 
saw cadets swallow insults the way we did. 

GLORY. And the cake (Laughing) — oh, 
it was cement! 

CADET McCLELLAN. That's why we 
ate it — to make ourselves solid — with you. 

CADET BEAUREGARD. I passed you 
this morning, Miss June. 



33 

GLORY. Thank you! 

CADET BEAUREGARD. For what? 

GLORY. For passing! 

CADETS McCLELLAN and BURNSIDE. 
Wooden! 

CADET BURNSIDE. Mr. McClellan was 
"skinned" this morning for ''improper ex- 
pression" at breakfast. 

GLORY. Oh, Mr. McClellan, did you say 
bad words? 

CADET McCLELLAN. Small offense — 
but Mr. Beauregard was "skinned" for "dirty 
bore" at inspection. 

GLORY. Now I call that horrid. It's 
bad enough to be called a bore. 

CADET BURNSIDE. That's right — he is 
a bore. Don't you ever allow him to call on 
you. 

CADET BEAUREGARD. I was just about 
to ask if I might call on you, at the hotel. 

GLORY. Please do, but be sure to come in 
the AFTERNOON — I am always at home in 
the MORNING! {Glory and Cadets laugh.) 

CADETS McCLELLAN and BURNSIDE. 
Such a headache! 

GLORY. Ever have one before? 

CADET BEAUREGARD. Always after. 

GLORY. After that what can we do to 
himP 



34 

CADET BXJRNSIDE. An afterthought — 
a song — the song we all love to hear you 
sing, Glory June. We know w^e haven't a 
ghost of a show with you, but 

GLORY (Holding out both arms) . I love 
you all — and it would not be so hard to 
decide in favor of — of — you all — only — I 
don't want to be in the Army, so you are all 
safe with me. 

CADET McCLELLAN. I have heard you 
say that before. Most girls up here would 
like it, especially the "L. P.'s," but you. Glory 
June, would make a typical Army woman. 

GLORY (Getting furious). Don't ever say 
that to me again. I can't bear that phrase. 
Typical Army woman, INDEED! (Stamps 
her foot). I shall NEVER be one. (Turns 
her hack to them and walks atvay). 

CADET BXTRNSIDE. Pardon me. Oh, I 
say, Miss June, don't go off like that — it's 
nearly time for that formation for the 
exercises at the chapel this evening. (Look- 
ing at watch). Only a few moments and 
then we have to rush off. 

GLORY. Rush off, and how shall I get 
back to Highland Falls? There is no bus 
to-night. 

CADET BEAUREGARD (looking at chev- 
rons). I'll take you home, little girl, if I 



35 

lose my chevrons and go to the area forever. 

GLORY. Oh, what a gallant! A beau 
worth having — but I will not keep you. I 
have an engagement (looking all around) 
which I fear someone is forgetting — and will 
make him lose his chevrons. 

CADETS. But how about that song — the 
song, "One Little Eoy Had Money," but you 
must say, "One little cadet had money." 

(Glory sings the song, the cadets humming the 
second or alto softly. Coming to the chofus they 
pass her, taking her hand, lifting it to their lips 
as they go off the stage. Cadet Jackson ("Jack"), 
Glory's sweetheart, appears slowly in the back- 
ground, watching the picture thus made. He 
repeats the last line, and the cadets disappear, and 
Jack, instead of taking Glory's hand, tries to kiss 
her lips, hut she turns her head.) 

''ONE LITTLE BOY HAD MONEY." 

(Song from the Honeymoon Trail) 
"Por one little boy had money; 
(First cadet passes, kisses hand and leaves stage.) 
One little boy had sense; 

(Second cadet passes.) 

And one little boy was society's joy, 

(Third cadet passes.) 

With a dress suit for forty cents. 

And one little boy was handsome; 



se 

{Glory looks lingeringly.) 
And one was a titled beau; — 

But — the one she told 'Yes' — 
Had no chance with the rest — 
Except that she loved him so — 
Except that she loved him so." 

{Jack appears and takes up the refrain.) 

(Jack tries to kiss Glory, but succeeds only in 
getting her hand.) 

JACK. Glory, have I kept you waiting? 

GLORY. No ; I have been amusing myself 
— trying to rid the atmosphere of quite A 
NUMBER OF THINGS. 

JACK. Are you thinking of Stevenson's 
words — 

"The world is so full of a number of things — 
I'm sure we should all be as happy as 
kings"? 

GLORY. No; I was not calling cadets 
"things" — and if I told them you did, they 
would not like it. I was just persuading 
them it was time for that formation. 

JACK. I'm glad you got rid of them. I 
thought I never would get here. You surely 
do look sweet. 

GLORY. You're sweet to say it. Do you 
like this hat? 

JACK. Bet I do — on you. 



37 
O-LORY (Coqiiettishly). Want to come 
under P 

(Jack fails in the effort — braces.) 

JACK. Have you thought over what I 
told you last night at the hop? 

GLORY. You told me so many things, 
Jack dear — just which one do you mean? 

JACK. You know. 

GLORY. Let's sit down and tell me all 
over again. 

JACK. Tell me that you love me first. 

GLORY, I've always cared about you, 
Jack — ever since furlough when we had such 
a lovely vacation together. 

JACK. You loved me enough to promise 
me then — but now, Glory, SOMETHING 
seems different — I feel sometimes as though 
you were not quite happy about it. 

GLORY. I have not changed toward you. 
Jack — but you know I have seen so little of 
Army life — I know nothing of it — the Army 
ladies I meet every day here — the conversa- 
tions I hear — I do not exactly understand, 
perhaps — but I do not feel I could be one of 
them. 

JACK. You need be only yourself, sweet- 
heart — you were made for a soldier's wife. 



38 

GLORY. I do not believe so. I seem to 
have very little in common with them to 
speak of. In civil life our conversation is of 
literature, art, music, the latest play, the 
new opera — how can I talk dates with these 
women who constantly refer to 64, 82, 98 — 
what are the years to me, Jack? 

JACK. Glory, dear, let me try to make 
the years mean something to you, so that we 
two can look back and ''count them over — 
every one apart — our rosary." {Glory looks 
into his eyes — dangerously near.) As to the 
play — the opera — one has very little oppor- 
tunity of enjoying all that — but if fortune 
sends us to a city from some Western post, 
say — we come fresh and enthusiastic ready 
to enjoy to the uttermost all that has been 
denied for months — perhaps years. 

GLORY. Well, anyway, Jack, I don't 
believe I want to be an Army woman. 

JACK. Glory, just what do you mean by 
that? 

GLORY. I mean just that. A while ago 
a Cadet told me he thought I would make a 
"typical Army woman." It made me furious. 
I never want to be called that. 

JACK. Why? 



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Class of 1829 Class of 1843 

TWO WEST POINT GRADUATES. 

On April 9, 1865, there was enacted by- 
two graduates of West Point one of the most 
momentous and impressive scenes in the his- 
tory of the nation : The vanquished army of 
the South surrendered to the victorious army 
of the North — a long and bloody civil war, in 
which both sides fought for w^hat they 
thought was right, was ended — a West Point 
graduate of the Class of 1829 surrendered to 
a West Point graduate of the class of 1843. 
The one who wore the gray was dignified 
and courageous in defeat; the one who wore 
the blue was fair and generous in victory; in 
bearing and in speech they both typified the 
sfjirit of West Point. The American nation 
will ever honor and cherish the memory of 
both of them; the nations of the world will 
ever admire their achievements. 



39 

GLORY. To me they seem careless, friv- 
olous, selfishly fond of pleasure — of atten- 
tion. 

JACK. Call it that if you will. When 
we were out in the Islands last, mother called 
it "keeping the ball rolling." It had to be 
done. It made them forget for the hour that 
they were away from "God's Own Country," 
trying to keep up their 

GLORY. (Interrupting). Oh, please don't 
talk about life in the Philippines to me I I 
have listened to it most all the afternoon. 
One had left children at home to go with her 
husband — the other had remained in the 
States with her boys and the poor man went 
off alone. Can you imagine any one doing 
such a heartless thing — if she really cared 
at all about her husband? — or — (doubtfully) 
leaving those little girls at school — why, 
they might have died ! 

JACK. Yes, and no one felt that more 
than the mother — she could not be in both 
places, you know, and Army life often means 
separation. Oh, Glory — little girl— when 
you speak against the Army women this way, 
I feel it as deeply as though you were 
criticising my ov/n mother — my own sweet 
sister. As a matter of fact, you do not know 



40 

a single Army woman intimately, and yet 
you do not care to be like them. 

GLORY. Tell me you love me — kiss me 
(covering her face with widespread hands 
and looking at him through fingers) — but 
don't lecture! Besides, I don't think there 
is to be a bus to-night and you will have to 
take me home. 

JACK. (Looking at his watch) I have 
just two minutes to do it in — before that 
formation for chapel. 

GLORY. What's a formation compared to 
my getting home safely? 

JACK. It's bothering me, I confess. I 
know my duty is now to leave you and rush 
off, but my whole heart pulls me the other 
way. 

GLORY. Then show me how deep your 
love is — forget everything and come with me 
— I promise my lips as sure reward. 

JACK. (Futting his hand over his eyes) 
Could my sister ever have used such words! 
Would my dear, sweet mother ever in her 
youth have tempted so! You do not know — 
you have not the first idea of being a soldier's 
wife. How well do I remember when my 
father left for Cuba in '98 and for the Philip- 
pines in '99 — I can now see my mother hold- 
ing his sword until he was ready to buckle 



41 
it on, keeping back her tears and giving him 
every comfort, every encouragement neces- 
sary to his departure, and saying cheerfully 
from the door, "Do not think of us until it 
is all over — Aufweidersehen!" In the eyes 
of a true Army woman, — self is not in ques- 
tion where duty arises, — where an order is 
to be obeyed and I once heard an officer say 
that his wife was more of a soldier than he 
himself. 

GLORY. You have said enough, my brave 
boy. Kiss me now and go; you can make it 
if you hurry; for, were I standing in an 
open prairie and a tremendous blizzard blow- 
ing, I would say, ''Go! Go!", and were I 
buried in the snow the very thought of you 
would keep me warm until your return. 
Oh, I love you Jack, and I say, ''Yes" — and 
I will try to be like the picture you have 
drawn of a true, noble woman. (They em- 
brace and walk off.) 

(Bnter Murdoch and Thayer.) 

THAYER (As he is entering) And what's 
the name of your boy? 

MURDOCK. Fred — Frederick Hoyle Mur- 
dock! (Murdoch and Thayer sit on the rock just 
vacated by Glory and Jack) And he's the 
finest lad that ever lived, bless his dear heart ! 



42 

He's such a manly, clean, generous fellow. 
Oh, the joy of being the father of such a 
son — of realizing, of feeling, that he's of my 
own flesh and blood ! 

THAYER. Yes, a feeling of that kind 
must be a great joy. 

MUIIDOCK (who has been pensively gaz- 
ing into space). Henry, have you the 
"makings"? 

THAYER. No, but I have one already 
made. (Hands box of cigarettes to Murdoch 
who takes and lights one, and then begins to 
puff smoke, as if absorbed in thought). 

THAYER. Bobbie, you seem kind of pen- 
sive this evening, old man, what's the 
matter? 

MURDOCK. I am kind of pensive this 
evening — in fact, I am very pensive. Do 
you know that it was just thirty years ago 
today that, on this very spot, I proposed to 
Virginia Hoyle, of Florida, who is today Mrs. 
Robert Murdock, the mother of my boy, 
Fred? 

THAYER. Really! (They both rise). 

MURDOCK. And do you know, Henry, 
that I didn't realize until only this after- 
noon that it was not you, Henry Thayer, 
my old classmate, who spoke the things I 
heard in my office yesterday morning, but 



43 
that it was the voice, the spirit, of Sylvanus 
Thayer, the Father of the Military Acadamy, 
that was speaking to me? 

I have decided to get an appointment for 
Fred, who will be seventeen next month. He 
was going to Yale, but he will now enter 
West Point next year. 

(Murdoch takes hold of Thayer's hand and 
places his left hand on Thayer's shoulder.) 

Old man, I feel that I owe you a debt of 
gratitude, and I want to tell you that from 
now on I will never miss an opportunity to 
come up to the old place and live again in 
spirit the days that we, of dear old '82, 
spent here as cadets — from now on I will 
never miss an opportunity to make ''the 
pilgrimage to Mecca" — I AM A REGEN- 
ERATED WEST POINTER! 

Curtain. 

{Orchestra plays "Benny Havens" ; air is taken 
up by the singing table). 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




